


Somehow, somehow...

by mssileas



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Romance, Which really isn't going as anyone might expect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-10-27 23:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10819083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssileas/pseuds/mssileas
Summary: ...I always end up in your arms.-The Fourth Age has come, and already the world begins to change. Though it does not offer any less challenges for the dwarf brave (or stupid) enough to whisk away the Elvenking's son.[This fic is on indefinite hiatus. Apologies to any readers that are still left - don't think I have it in me atm.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, thanks for stopping by!  
> This is my debut, not only in LotR, but also for writing in English - like so many here I'm not a native speaker but I wanted to share it with as many of you as possible. :)
> 
> This was only supposed to be a short introduction, it turned out to be 4 pages long so I'm posting it separatly.  
> Any feedback is greatly appreciated. (also I'm still looking for a beta reader, please message me if you're interested! http://mssileas.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, none of it belongs to me. I do not make profit off of this.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -

At the ripe age of 140, Gimli, Gloin's son, firmly believed that after everything he had been through, after all of his extraordinary experience as part of the fellowship , neither fate nor chance would ever surprise him again, no challenge could ever seem too big to overcome if only he set his will to it.  
He should have known it was too bold a statement for a dwarf; after all, he could easily live on for another 200 years. 300, if he pushed his luck.  
But in this very moment, he felt absolutely invincible.

Which was especially odd as he was lying in what felt like the very center of the ancient forest of Fangorn, thick patches of moss felt soft like pillows underneath him, the buzzing of insects and chirping of birds seemed to be caught within the thick, humid air that surrounded him, making him feel dazed and lazy.  
When he had first followed Legolas into the forest, he had thought it to be a trap... some strange kind of magic, enticing him to lower his guards, succumb to the heat and the unsettling hum in the air, and finally lay down beneath the trees, only to be swallowed whole in his sleep by strong, angry roots.

He hadn't trusted the forest then.  
When he had said as much to the elf, who had led Arod slowly but with a steady hand over long unused, overgrown paths, Legolas had only smiled, cautiously tilting his head ever so slightly as if there was something among the thick, old trees only he himself could hear. Which had probably been the case.  
“You are wise not to, for it does not trust you yet either.”  
The elf's deep voice had sounded lost in thought, as he had taken in his surroundings with eager eyes, open wide and curious as a child's.

“But you do not need to fear it, meleth-nin. I have witnessed you befriend elf and man alike, whether they were kings, lords or stableboys, I do not doubt you can make friends with trees as well.”  
The distance in Legolas' voice had disappeared then as he had turned to look at Gimli, no longer allowing the impressive forest before him to distract him from the dwarf's unease. Gimli had scoffed quietly.  
“For now I can only hope they will agree to a truce.”, he had grumbled, and he had made it a point to keep his axes close to him, tucked away, trying to demonstrate a peaceful mindset towards the old, twisted trees.

He knew that Legolas had struggled almost as much following him below the earth. The darkness that had engulfed them had been leaving him blind; the stone walls had thrown echoes that had only confused his sensitive ears. By the end of the tunnel, the fearless elf who Gimli had seen walking among ghost armies of men and slaying a Mûmakil single-handedly in combat, had been a shivering mess. His breathing had been harsh and uneven, his pupils blown wide. Only when they had entered the Glittering Cave, unfolding in front of them in all their otherworldly glory, Legolas had suddenly fallen silent. So silent, it would have made Gimli worry all over, if it had not been for the sheer wonder and amazement that had captured the elf's beautiful, ageless face.

And in silence they had walked, breathing in the clean, cool air, listening to the echo of their footsteps mingling with the occasional drops of water falling from stalactites into otherwise still, dark lakes, some not bigger than a mere puddle, some so large the shore on the other side seemed to vanish into darkness, probably leading to even more undisclosed caves and paths below the mountain.  
Only when they had stopped to settle for the night and Gimli had tucked the elf close to him, listening to his breath evening out, he had explained the vision that had followed him ever since he had first set foot into the caves of Aglarond. The vision of a colony, a small one, set out to explore rather than mine the place for its treasures. He hadn't needed to look to feel the smile upon Legolas' face as he mentioned, almost offhandedly, how he had thought about creating an entrance more suited for elven and human visitors, as he did not wish to be closed off as so many dwarven realms were.

Gimli knew that Legolas toyed with a similar idea. While they had stayed behind to help with the rebuilding of Minas Tirith, the elf had spent most of his time and energy planting and growing, coaxing life from soil that Gimli would have found to be dead and wasted. With every sprouting leaf or blossom the smile on Legolas' face had seemed more relaxed and carefree, and Ithilien offered a whole forest to be brought back to its former beauty.  
It was no secret that Legolas longed to bring some of his people with him to see it restored, and Gimli could not begrudge him for it. After all, an elf could not be kept in a cave, no matter how exceptionally beautiful a cave it was, and a dwarf could not idly linger in the woods, singing to trees beneath the starlight. But as it so happened, the distance between Aglarond and Ithilien was no greater than a week's ride – for the elf at least.

 

Somewhere deep in the back of his mind Gimli knew the day would inevitably come when they needed to part ways... but it was sheer impossible to think about it, lying spread out on the thick, mossy floor, feeling rays of sunshine fall through the thick treetops, tickling his skin, hearing the soft, singing voice of his elf coming closer.  
It suddenly stopped and Gimli cracked open an eye, his gaze falling upon the slim figure perched upon a sturdy branch, his legs dangling freely in the air and his hair shimmering with golden flecks of sunshine, watching Gimli intently.  
“It must be a new world indeed, to see a dwarf snuggled up with the trees.”  
His smooth voice was teasing, but it was clearly written in the elf's face how pleased he was with the development. “Do they no longer threaten to devour you for supper?”, he asked innocently, but Gimli just huffed.  
“Nay, they don't. I was just finishing singing to them about how unbecoming us dwarves really are!”  
A slow grin spread on his lips as Legolas' laughter was ringing through the warm air when he hopped from the branch, landing on his feet almost soundlessly. Gently, like a wave rolling out on the shore, he laid down beside Gimli, slim hands coming up to weave their fingers into the dwarf’s thick, coarse hair, as he easily slipped his arm around the elf's small waist.

“Well, then obviously you were lying to them.”  
Legolas' words were merely a whisper, ghosting over Gimli's lips.  
“For I have had a taste of you before… and what a pleasure it was...” As if to remind himself, Legolas pressed his lips to Gimli's, gently at first, savouring the feeling of soft lips on his own, so in contrast with the rough scratch of the dwarf's beard, breathing in the rich scent of earth and leather and something that was so purely Gimli he would have recognized him even blind and deaf.

Any wit Gimli might have had left fled his mind by then, and he parted his lips for a curious tongue as he reached up to stroke his thumb across a smooth cheek, caressing the soft skin before tucking a stray strand of blond hair behind a delicate, pointed ear... only to feel Legolas _shiver_ against him.  
Gimli took the chance to deepen the kiss, a soft moan vibrating against his lips as he gently stroked the tip of the elf's sensitive ear with calloused fingers and his mind happily went blank as Legolas quite literally wrapped himself around him, only allowing a minimum of space between them for nimble fingers to quickly undo the laces, knots and clasps holding their clothing together.

It was probably for the best that Gimli hadn't known about the effect those touches had on his elven companion until they had arrived in Minas Tirith. He doubted they would have made it there in the first place otherwise.

-

So, there they were, celebrating what was akin to their honeymoon. Which he thought was well deserved, having walked into war side by side, facing almost certain death to defeat the unspeakable evil that had threatened to wipe out Middle Earth, which would have left nothing but ruin and despair in its wake.  
Gimli thanked Mahal every morning for seeing him through this hell unscathed, but even more he thanked whatever god had blessed Legolas with enough courage to speak his heart before they had marched on the Black Gate.  
He just did so again, silently enjoying the warmth that spread through him, his body humming with how lucky he felt, how content to pretend they were the only creatures left on Arda, none of their differences attracting curious glances or harsh whispers. Though he had long accepted that he could hardly blame anybody for being at least mildly taken aback by their bond, unheard of between elf and dwarf, he thoroughly relished in their little hiding place.

But Gimli knew time hadn't stopped, as much as he felt like it had, and so it was no surprise when Legolas, sitting in front of him, letting Gimli braid his hair while he plucked berries from a nearby bush that he fed them with alternatively, spoke up.  
“We should go and see your father next.”  
His voice held no readable emotion, something that still left Gimli confused and furrowing his brows.  
“Why not your father?”, he asked instinctively, when the realization hit him like a bucket full of ice water. It was as easy as forgetting about time, emerged into the deep woods of the Fangorn as they were, to completely ignore just who Legolas' father was.  
Thranduil, the Elven King of the Woodland Realm, was known far beyond the borders of Mirkwood for the scathing wrath he unleashed upon those he deemed his enemies, he despised dwarfs openly and utterly disregarded other mortal creatures.  
Gimli doubted that the slowly established and always strained trading agreements between Dale, Erebor and Mirkwood had softened Thranduil's beliefs or made him any less cautious, for that matter.

“...fine, Erebor first. But you better be prepared, elf, for not only my father is awaiting my return. I have a lot of family, and even more who feel like family, though we might not share blood.”, he explained, grumbling slightly.  
“I know. I have met some of them before.”, Legolas mused, the memory of how he had treated Thorin and their company clearly present in his mind.Cleary, Fate had been joking with him at that point.  
“But this was the past, and it does not matter now.”, the elf told Gimli, turning to face him, the unfinished braid slipping from the dwarf's broad hands. “I am ready to face Gloín and your people, be it their anger or their mockery I will receive. For you should be reunited with them.”  
And because their time to do so was limited for dwarves. Legolas didn't say it out loud, but then again, he didn't need to. Blessed as the elf was in his courage, there was an anxious line around his mouth that Gimli sought to smooth over with his thumb.  
“Do not worry, my pretty jewel. They are dwarves after all, they know our hearts are not swayed once given away to our One. I have given mine willingly and lovingly and all of Arda's treasures could not make me take it back from you, let alone some ill-tempered words by my people. It is not their place to judge, as Mahal only may know the reason for creating me this way.”  
Legolas' features softened with Gimli's gentle words that spoke so beautifully of his confidence, but his tone did not hide how he still wished for acceptance rather than resignation by his family.  
“There's no reason to be afraid of my father.”, Gimli assured him again. Legolas studied his face for a moment as if he wanted to ask why he felt the need to emphasize this again, eyes as dark as a mountain lake seemed to read into him like an open book – a feeling that had Gimli squirming involuntarily.

Just as he was about to snap Legolas out of it, the elf smiled, slightly surprised and... triumphantly.  
“You are afraid of _my_ father!”, he exclaimed. Gimli huffed under his breath.  
“I'm not afraid!”, he protested but then sighed heavily.  
“Nah, I mean it, it's not fear. But as I was just thinking, here I am, at the ripe age of 140 years - “  
The elf's giggling interrupted him and made him grin despite himself.  
“- I thought I had mastered every hindrance one could possibly imagine. But thinking about facing _The Great King Thranduil_ -”  
The ironic pathos Gimli's voice carried made Legolas bury his face against his sturdy chest, trying to stifle a snorting laughter.  
“- and quite certainly knowing that he knows that I know how kissing your silly, pointy ear gets you all hot and bothered, which I'm also quite certain he didn't want any dwarf in existence to know, makes me suddenly yearn for another suicide mission against Mordor.”  
Legolas' laughter, way too careless for the topic at hand, rang through the air at that image that Gimli had so eloquently painted, and Gimli felt himself laughing along - despite that he had been at least 80 percent serious about this - until his sides ached.

Mirth was clearly dancing in Legolas' eyes as he had composed himself enough to look at Gimli, smiling mischievously now, his cheeks still flushed. Gimli found him insanely beautiful then.  
“Well... lucky for you, you have always liked a challenge.”, the elf smirked, capturing Gimli's lips into a promising kiss, his half-finished braid coming undone all together as they claimed each other one last time in their private sanctuary.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What if it's not rumours...? What if it's true?”, he whispered, dread filling him at finally, lastly admitting the possibility. He still did not want to believe any of it... men might think nothing of an elf sharing food, drink and camp with a dwarf, but men were ignorant at best. Thranduil had taught his son to never turn his back on a dwarf unless they were chained to a wall inside the dungeons, and to be cautious even then of their brutal, mindless strength. There was no way he would...   
> No, it was absurd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!  
> Here's a quick update, since the first chapter seemed well liked :)  
> I hope you enjoy this as well - it follows the book lore more closely than the movies, and also I'm completely disregarding Legolas' part in the Hobbit movies since it doesn't make an awful lot of sense, time-wise.  
> So he has not actually left Mirkwood after BotFA, but stayed with his people until Gollum escaped from their grasp, thus his appearance at Elrond's council.  
> This chapter also features a bit of my musings about the Mirkwood elves, because Tolkien wrote about them so vaguely and it gives me perfect opportunity to play with ideas. Enjoy!

“Any word of him yet?”  
Thranduil had not even bothered to turn upon the arrival of his advisor. His detached voice would have fooled a more inexperienced ear into thinking him inattentive to the news brought to him, engrossed in paperwork.  
A faint tilt of his head gave him away to Galion's eyes, however, and it was not surprising. His answer remained the same as it had for weeks or months now.

“Nothing.”, he said, and after a moment of hesitation he added: “Only rumours...”  
“I do not _care_ for rumours!”  
Gone was the cold, untouchable facade and Galion briefly wished it had been anyone but him who had to be at the receiving end of things when finally all the anxiousness, worry and fear broke free from their King, releasing themselves in a flash of wrath.  
As sudden and explosive as lightning struck a tree, a bottle of ink was thrown against the wall, bursting into a million pieces and splattering the silk tapestry that decorated the room.

With two long strides Thranduil was upon him, forcing Galion to muster up all his willpower to not instinctively back down. It usually made the king even angrier.  
“Where is my son, Galion?”, Thranduil demanded to know, as if he could force him to know it by sheer determination.  
“My Lord, I'm sure... Legolas will return. He is young, and he sees this world beyond our borders for the first time. The war is over, he might as well see his fill of it, and then he'll return. If we are patient...-”  
“Have I not been patient?”, Thranduil interrupted him, dangerously quiet now, eyeing him in a way that promised that there was no correct answer to be given to that question. He spared Galion from having to step into the trap knowingly though, averting his gaze towards where ink was still dripping into little pools on the floor.

“They defeated the enemy months ago. They marched on the Black Gate and against everything we dared hope for, they were victorious. But he did not return.  
I was patient then. I understood. He had travelled far with that Ranger, who is now king, and certainly it was of great importance to him to be witness of his coronation. So he still did not return, and I waited. Patiently.  
Now this king of men is crowned and well-sat upon his throne.”

Beneath the long sleeves of his robes, Galion could see Thranduil's hand, balled into a fist and trembling with the effort to retain himself.

“So where is my son? The fellowship is scattered, it must be so. Gandalf has taken the Ringbearer with him to the West. Galadriel went with them... Celeborn told me.”  
To call them friends would still have been an exaggeration, but the Lord of Lórien and he had agreed on borders and terms of trade easily enough and if Celeborn did come with one advantage, his was the vast amount of information available to him. Thranduil would not have risked sending his patrols out so far beyond his woods, but he did not go out of his way to keep Celeborn from doing so himself.

Thus, it had been the Lord of Lórien who had first brought certain rumours to his attention... none that he wanted to even consider for a second of his immortal life to be true. Still the doubts festered in his mind, growing louder and more persistent with each passing day.  
When Celeborn had told him of his impression that his son had actually befriended the dwarf, Thranduil had been... surprised, to say the least. He had decided it had been a diplomatic decision, after all Legolas would need at the very least neutral ground between him and the other members of the fellowship. He had thought nothing more of it, and scorned Celeborn silently for sentimentally calling it 'friendship'.  
After that, it had become more difficult to ignore the snippets and pieces of information that were being passed on to him. 

While other races found it difficult to believe that their long-standing enemy had indeed be defeated and no longer posed a threat to them, men had been quick as always to adapt to their new world.  
Travel and trade routes had been re-opened and were being used generously, and when men sat together after a hard day's work, they _loved_ to gossip. So word travelled with them, but by the time a story had made its way from Gondor to Dale, it had changed so many times nobody could ever prove what they claimed to be true. There was only this stubborn rumour, a sidenote to anybody's story usually, that never seemed to change.

If a man had done nothing but fed the King Elessar's horse once, he would find an open ear in any inn or tavern he wished, and although everybody agreed graciously on the kings noble and kind spirit, they had all been left to wonder about his company.

_“I'm tellin' you, they were a weird bunch. Wherever he went, the elf went. And wherever the elf went, the dwarf went. Figures, they shared a horse and all.”  
“The king and the elf?”  
“... no, dumbass, the elf and the dwarf!”  
“_Sure _they did. You know who else was on that horse? My dead granny!”_

To be entirely fair, the good people of Gondor did have reason to be baffled by their close-knit appearance. And the people of Dale even more so for not believing a word of it.  
The blood filled feud between the Elves and Dwarves were legends as much as recent history and it was common knowledge they held no love for each other still. Never before had such an odd pair crossed through Middle Earth, but men had become too estranged to both races to ever question what they saw. And so – again – they turned to each other and spun their tales of the two unlikely brothers in arms.

The remains of them that made it all the way up to the north, haunted Thranduil in his sleep.

Softly, Galion now stepped forward, seeing as his king was now deeply lost in thought, his pale, cold eyes fixating on something far beyond the wall he was actually looking at. Suddenly Thranduil looked very lost.  
“What if it's not rumours...? What if it's true?”, he whispered, dread filling him at finally, lastly admitting the possibility. He still did not want to believe any of it... men might think nothing of an elf sharing food, drink and camp with a dwarf, but men were ignorant at best. Thranduil had taught his son to never turn his back on a dwarf unless they were chained to a wall inside the dungeons, and to be cautious even then of their brutal, mindless strength. There was no way he would...   
No, it was absurd.

 

Thranduil didn't wait for a reply. He breathed deep, once, straightening himself again, soon looking as unfazed as ever as he turned to his advisor.  
“I want guards posted on our borders at all times. I want even more outside of them. I want them to be everywhere, in Dale, Laketown, on every road that leads to the Erebor... as soon as my son sets a foot into Rhovanion, I want to you to bring him to me. Directly to me, no exceptions.”  
Galion hesitated.  
“What if he doesn't want to come with us? I can hardly arrest the prince.”  
Thranduil frowned at that, slightly shaking his head.  
“No one told you to arrest anyone. Tell him I insist on his immediate return. And if that _dwarf_ is with him... bring him too.”

-

Two weeks later, there was still no news.  
As an elf, Galion usually held little regard for time, but now each passing day felt like a century, and delivering their daily report to their king had become a dreaded task among the guards. Thranduil was not irrational, he knew that there was nothing they could possibly do to retrieve his son if he simply seemed to have disappeared.  
Alas, they did not fear their king. They did not fear unjust accusations or punishments, no. The entire matter was a lot more difficult than that.

The elves of the Woodland Realm loved their king, who kept them safe within his halls, that they had helped his father build. Galion remembered their arrival, he had barely grown out of adolescence when the Sindar had first set foot in the Greenwood. Even more clearly than Oropher, he remembered Thranduil, not older than his own son was now, dressed in seemingly absurd silken garments over which fell gleaming, white-blond hair that just screamed for attention – surely, every beast of the forest would see him from miles afar, not suited at all for hunting and fighting. Or so he had thought.  
But there had been horror and grief etched into his deep blue eyes, and the mocking words had gotten stuck in Galion's throat upon seeing it.

So instead he had offered greetings and his name, being too young and curious to be as reserved as the elder in the group he was with and Thranduil had graciously returned the gesture. With some hesitation they had invited the strangers to a feast, although Galion doubted it would have deserved that title at the court Thranduil had grown up.  
Still, the small host of elves that Oropher had led to the Greenwood had mingled quickly with the lively folk of the wood elves, for their curiosity easily won over their initial mistrust, and their welcoming feast had lasted until the first light of the sun had touched the treetops.  
They hadn't left again, and no one had ever wanted them to.

The Sindar were different, and the Sylvans did not always understand their love for luxury, for gems or expensive fabrics, nor their love for rules and order. Neither of them were ever forced upon them, so they joked about it in good nature, as the Sindar would smile when they plucked leaves, twigs and an occasional stray bug from their friends' hair and clothes, who were always too energetic and too easily distracted to be bothered with such small quirks in their appearance.  
Only when the orc attacks had become more frequent, and a foul breath from the southern ruin of Dol Guldur had infested the forest and the beasts living in it, had Oropher stepped forward, and they had turned to him in fear of what had become of their beloved wood.

He had established rank and order quickly and efficiently, and soon the orcs no longer faced a tumbling bunch of careless wood elves, but an army behind their Sindar King, ready to protect their home against anything that was thrown at them.  
They had always loved him fiercely for it, just as much as his son who fought with them as his father's right hand, until dirt and blood had streaked his silver blond hair and the orcs learned to fear the flash of silver within the woods. It meant that death had come for them, and they knew it.

Thranduil's wife had still been with him then... Galion's chest tightened at the memory of her.  
Even though she was born a Sindar, she was probably the quickest to adjust to the ways of the wood elves, soon discarding heavy robes for their lighter hunting gear. She had been beautiful, more wild and adventurous than others of her kin, swift in every movement and deadly with a bow and arrows.

For many centuries they had defended the Greenwood, protected and guided by their strong-willed but gentle king, until the evil forces that had spread their greedy fingers across Middle Earth could no longer be unnoticed, and so when Oropher had given the order, none of them had hesitated to follow him across their safe borders into battle.

Galion pressed his back toward the rough treebark, willing the memories to back off, but their prince's delay had opened old wounds not only in his father.  
He knew what had plagued Thranduil for all this months, images of their king's broken, bleeding body, being trampled down by hordes of orcs at Dagorlad, forced to retreat with what was left of their army. Never before had Galion felt such terror, and it had never left those who had returned completely.  
It was too easy to imagine Legolas in his grandfather's place, overrun by the enemy, slaughtered like cattle along with the men who had marched with him against Sauron. Galion struggled to push the image away.

 

Thranduil's coronation had felt like a funeral.  
They had recovered slowly, grief had wrapped itself around them like an ill-fitting cloak and the songs that had echoed through the halls had been full of sorrow and loss. Until one day the king had brought them their solace again, a tiny elfling wrapped in so many blankets he could barely be found amongst them, with huge blue eyes and a whisk of blond hair on top of his head.  
They had celebrated the birth of Legolas Thranduilion until there had been no sober elf left in the Greenwood.

Then they had lost his mother, their beautiful, fierce queen, and Galion knew that this would have broken Thranduil at last, had it not been for that little, sprouting leaf she had left him. None of them had ever been able to brighten Thranduil's moods so easily as their prince, and so while his father had taught him to read and write and studied songs and poems and history with him, all the elves of Greenwood had become his mother.  
They had showed him how to fight and hunt while his father needed to oversee his diplomatic duties, they dressed him in their simple garments and braided his hair so it wouldn't tangle while he was climbing trees and exploring the woods. Thranduil had never complained once about his son, jumping on his lap with boots covered in mood and streaks of dirt painted across his face, gushing in the most unsophisticated Sylvan dialect about today's adventures. He had only listened intently, as if the size of the deer's antler compared to last year were the most important news of his whole kingdom, while slowly unbraiding Legolas' hair, combing it gently with his fingers.

And so they had shared their king's fear when their precious child had left the forest, and now they shared his pain on every day that they couldn't bring him home with them.  
Galion had been lost so deeply in thought by then that it took him longer than the two elves who were with him to notice the distant voice. Almost involuntarily his head snapped in their direction, and his eyes widened in the dark as he allowed the first flicker of hope to spread through his chest. 

Slowly Galion moved towards it, silently moving through the treetops, until he could hear it more clearly, and his heart leapt with joy. It was a soft, quiet hum, just short of an actual song, as he had heard Legolas do so often while he was repairing arrows or oiling leather. For a while he just listened, basking in the relief he felt and joyful anticipation of finally having their prince return to them and to his father.  
The deep, rumbling voice that came out of nowhere felt like a punch to his face.

“If you do not wish to be with your folk quite yet, I'd suggest you cease with that constant noise, elf. You're waking every breathing thing in that forest.”  
Galion felt the pulling instinct to put an arrow between the dwarf's eyes this instant, who dared to speak such bold and insulting words to his prince. It turned into a twisted confusion as he heard Legolas chuckle.  
“And anything that is not woken by my singing will fall victim to your incessant snoring, dwarf.”  
Galion cringed. It was not right, speaking that word so gently and he dreaded the implication of it.

“My people live in the very north of these woods, they do not post guards this far south. Nobody lives here but deer and foxes and rabbits. Tomorrow we will hold ourselves more to the East, I think, and we should reach the Erebor in two days to get you back to your family.”  
Silence stretched between them for a moment, in which Galion could only hear the rustling of clothes, until Legolas spoke again, more quietly this time.  
“I know you're anxious, love, there's no need to hide it... I can already feel it in your shoulders and your legs.”  
“Nah, whatever's in my legs is Arod's fault.”, the dwarf protested, but otherwise didn't deny Legolas' words. The elf just smiled and kept on talking.  
“But Gimli, meleth-nîn, I am so excited! You told me so much about them, now I can't wait to meet them all. And if any of them tries to speak ill of you or your choice, I will simply not allow it!”

Galion had heard enough. His ears might start bleeding if he didn't put a stop to it right now and he bid the two elves beside him to wait for his command, as he hopped from the tree, as light and sure footed as only elves could be, landing gracefully on his feet before the wide eyed pair. The dwarf at least reached out instinctively for his weapon, though he made no move to strike, confused by Legolas' complete lack of response to the intruding stranger. Galion tried not to think too hard about how Legolas could probably have heard him minutes ego, if only he hadn't been as engrossed with slowly and patiently rubbing the mentioned stiff and aching shoulders of his companion. His hand had frozen mid-movement and both now seemed completely at loss for words, so Galion spoke first, bowing slightly and a bit mockingly to Legolas.

“Spoken like a true prince, my lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated - also, this is still unbeta'd, so if any of you feel their fingers itching to correct my mistakes, message me :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Take us to your king, then.”, Gimli decided. He didn’t miss the surprised look Legolas gave him, but shrugged his shoulders.
> 
> [...]
> 
> Legolas sighed and smiled softly, turning his back on Galion and all his attention on Gimli instead. “You don’t know what you’re agreeing to, I’m afraid.”, he said, taking Gimli’s hand into his own and softly stroking over the rough skin on his knuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!  
> This took a bit longer than expected, but I've finally made it. Thank you for all the support, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter - more than Gimli certainly does. :D

Gimli shouldn’t have given in. His very instinct had told him that it was a bad idea, choosing a travel route so close to the very place they were trying to avoid, but how could he refuse Legolas at least a glance at the forest that had now sprung to life again after centuries of suffering from the evil forces of Dol Guldur.  
He couldn’t imagine what that victory must feel like. Sure, he knew what it felt like to prepare for and fight in a battle, he knew the anxiousness of it, that threatened to paralyze the mind and body alike and forced a warrior to adapt something like a tunnel vision until their only focus lay only on what was before them. One second of hesitation and the day would end with crows feasting upon their bodies. So, yes, Gimli knew that and he had long mastered the art of turning fear into anger and adrenaline.  
He assumed that it was very different from living in a place that was _constantly_ under attack, though their fight wasn’t a war or a battle, it wasn’t even a proper siege. There was no other party to treat with, no commander to negotiate terms of surrender with, just an evil spirit breeding in the abandoned ruins that sickened the forest and everything that tried to live in it.

Gimli had been able to catch a glimpse of the Greenwood just before the sun had set and they had come to a halt at its borders. It looked nothing like he remembered. True, every little dwarrow grew up knowing that the Mirkwood and its inhabitants were to be avoided at all costs, for the elves protected themselves with magic, fogs and mists clouding mortal minds until they stumbled helplessly into starvation or the Elvenking’s punishment for trespassing to his lands. Nothing about it had ever sounded inviting for Gimli.  
But now the forest had shed its gloomy, twisted appearance. Instead, there were fresh, young leaves covering every bush and tree, and the saplings seemed to reach out for the sun’s kiss like a child would reach for its mother’s embrace. Even for a dwarf it felt… friendly, almost. Or maybe he had spent too much time with the elf already.

How could he have denied Legolas the sight of it?  
He sighed inwardly at the thought. The elf that had interrupted their peaceful rest had yet to spare him a second glance, but Gimli knew that the stranger probably still registered every move he made, even while talking to Legolas, who seemed in no hurry to get to his feet.  
Gimli could barely make out a word of their native tongue, but even though they were talking quietly the tension was thick in the air. He swore he could _feel_ Legolas being stubborn and difficult, resisting every pleading word, every intent explanation and it took his very last ounce of self-control Gimli claimed he possessed not to snigger at the flicker of exasperation in the guard’s eyes.

He let them have their moment, occasionally picking up a word he had already learned, but not nearly enough to really understand what they were talking about. As if he needed a lot of imagination for that. So, stretching out his stiff muscles – which now did attract the attention of the strange elf – he slowly started packing up their stuff again in the dim, flickering light of the small fire they had built. Gimli wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t a coward. He had known their plans would change the moment the other elf had appeared in front of them.  
“Told you the singing was a bad idea, didn’t I.” he told Legolas, who turned to him with a defeated grin and held up his hands as if he wanted to say _‘What can you do?’_.  
The other elf just stared at Gimli as if he felt attacked solely by the dwarf raising his voice, interrupting his conversation – that he so very impolitely had started to have in a language Gimli didn’t understand. Yet, he thought to himself.

“So, what’s going on here?”, he demanded to know now that he had their attention, folding his arms across his chest and shooting the elven guard a pointed look, which seemed to irritate him, as if he expected Legolas to scold him for being so blunt and out of line. But no help came from his prince. Contrary, Legolas looked at him very curiously… Galion almost felt mocked by both of them, and he had to resist the urge to grit his teeth audibly.  
“King Thranduil demands his son’s immediate return. He will not tolerate further delay. To make up for any… inconvenience this change of plans may cause, he has extended his welcome to anyone who might accompany our prince.”  
Gimli very much doubted that Thranduil had spared his inconvenience a second thought, and he just knew that, although joining the elves into their forest had been offered to him as an invitation; it was a politely disguised command. Sure, they could resist. Technically, they weren’t within Thranduil’s borders, and Gimli assumed every guard would be conflicted when being forced to carry out their king’s order against the will of their own prince. But he already knew that this fight was not to be won with weapons and violence. 

If they somehow, miraculously, did this right, they could gain much, much more than just grudging resignation and silent resentment. They could actually establish peace between their people, long-lived and honest peace. In this regard, his own kin didn’t worry Gimli half as much as the elves did.  
His companion was… a most unusual choice, sure, but then again, love was not much of a choice for any dwarf, and they knew that. He anticipated that it might take some time for the eldest among them to wrap their heads around, but they’d do it the only way dwarves knew how to cope. With a lot of ale, day long shouting matches, and more ale when all was said and done and the last fight still standing was about who among them was the most pigheaded fool on the table. 

But Gimli could not foresee the elves’ reaction. He couldn’t even start to guess.  
So, while he had hoped to avoid this confrontation for some time longer, he had actually accepted his fate by now. He had brought this upon himself, after all, pulling at the fine silk strands of Thranduil’s web the moment he had taken his son’s hand in his own, drawing the Elvenking’s threatening attention to him immediately, as it seemed.  
“Take us to your king, then.”, Gimli decided. He didn’t miss the surprised look Legolas gave him, but shrugged his shoulders.  
“He will not be happy anyway. Don’t think we need to give him more reasons to be angry, right?”

Legolas sighed and smiled softly, turning his back on Galion and all his attention on Gimli instead. “You don’t know what you’re agreeing to, I’m afraid.”, he said, taking Gimli’s hand into his own and softly stroking over the rough skin on his knuckles. Gimli softly squeezed the slim fingers between his own, wondering if he could possibly make the strange elf faint if he were to pull Legolas in for a proper kiss, but the fellow looked scandalized enough as it was.  
“None of us have ever since we left Rivendell. Still, here we are, so... let's do what we do best and face whatever is coming for us.”

-

The walk back had to be the longest Galion ever had to take.  
He could barely comprehend what he had seen or heard so far, and even though he was leading their small party through the forest, torches lighting their way, every step the horse made behind him felt like a blow. It had been disconcerting to say the least, watching Legolas helping the dwarf on their horse with such practiced ease. For a while he could hear them mumbling softly to each other, but after some time the dwarf's breathing had become slower and deeper as he was dozing off, slipping into the resting state the mortal's so desperately needed. His jaw hurt from clenching his teeth so much.

 

Gimli hadn't actually intended to fall asleep... he would have thought himself not capable of it, on a horse's back, crossing through a dark forest, guarded by three very tense elves. And he had been weary at first, until he noticed that their leader seemed happy enough to walk with his back turned to them, while the other two didn't even so much as glance in their direction. It took him a while to figure out, why.  
While technically every member of their fellowship had known that Legolas was a king's son, he had never even made the attempt to use that royal status in his favor. He had let others have the lead, he had made no demands himself but instead he had followed Gandalf and Aragorn even more readily than Gimli at times.  
But this wasn't Gondor or Rohan, were the world already belonged to men, this was _his_ kingdom. And when he had said that he would not allow any insults targeted towards Gimli, he had actually meant it.  
For all Legolas seemed to care they could damn well choke on their disdain, and that's exactly what he demonstrated. It should have been awkward and tense, being in this surreal situation, but for the first time since they had known each other Gimli felt the elf slip effortlessly into a very royal demeanor of feeling completely at ease with his decision, no matter what it might look like to his people. 

And so, their guards were silent, and when Gimli finally started to relax he felt exhaustion sweep over him... he tried to resist it, to keep his eyes open, but the gentle swaying of the horse beneath him and Legolas' comforting, steady presence before him finally got the best of him, letting him drift off into a dozing, light sleep.  
Like any other elven realm, the Greenwood had a way of feeling completely untouched by time. It was still dark when Gimli jerked awake suddenly, but he could not say whether he had been asleep for half an hour or maybe a whole day. At first, he couldn't even tell what had startled him so, until he heard it again.  
_There was someone calling his name._

He turned his head sharply, but his eyes only stared at a dark forest, barely illuminated by the elves' torches. Nothing moved in it.  
_ >>Gimli!<< _  
This time, he recognized the voice, and something in his chest froze.  
“Irak'adad...”, he whispered. The rough khuzdul made his guards snap to attention, but the dwarf's eyes were locked on something in the darkness behind them. He didn't even notice them or their quelling looks.  
It could not be... Gimli knew that it was impossible, but then he heard it again, his uncle calling him over and over again, from a direction Gimli could not seem to find. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he could not feel the soothing touch of Legolas' hand on his knee as he grew more and more restless on Arod's back.  
There was no way it could be Óin. Some place of his mind still knew that, but his heart was racing as he frantically tried to find the source of his uncle's voice... it sounded so real, and at the same time wrong, as if he was torn between mind blowing panic and utter exhilaration. It was terrible. It was disturbing. Gimli needed to help him immediately.

He didn't even notice that Arod had come to a halt, nervously treading on the spot, throwing his head back in distress as the dwarf wriggled on his back to get off, while Legolas desperately tried to keep him there.  
It took the elf a considerable amount of strength to somehow grasp both of Gimli's arms, pulling them around him, locking his grip with each of his hands on the struggling dwarf's wrists.  
“Peace, my friend, peace!”  
Legolas' deep, quiet voice seemed to shield him from the eerie cries like a thick blanket, and Gimli forced himself to be still, shivering with the effort to do so.  
“Can you not hear it...?”, Gimli asked. His voice sounded broken and raw, and Legolas frowned.  
“No.”, he replied softly.  
“It's the belt, it cannot affect me. Forgive me, I thought...”

Legolas sighed. What exactly had he been thinking? That his father would let mortals roam freely through his woods just because they were celebrating times of alleged peace?  
Rather, his father seemed to insist on protecting his kingdom as fiercely as ever – he even sent his guards further south now, that should have been a clear message. 

“It's not real.”, he told Gimli, carefully biding Arod to move again. Hesitantly, the horse obliged.  
“It's just your mind playing tricks on you. Trying to lure you into the woods, away from the path. It's not real and it can't hurt you. It will be over soon.”

Gimli decided that 'soon' was a word that elves had not quite yet grasped the concept of. Crossing the belt seemed to take hours, and while Legolas kept talking softly to him, it could not completely drown out the voices calling for him from seemingly far away and at the same time so close it felt he only needed to reach out with his hand, and Óin would grasp it... or Balin or Ori... Somewhere along they had joined his uncle, until Gimli felt sick to his stomach, exhausted from resisting the pulling forces of the treacherous noises.  
Still he couldn't tell whether they were fighting and screaming for help or jubilantly laughing. All he knew was that he needed to be with them either way.  
In the end Gimli had squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against Legolas' back almost uncomfortably tight and it was all he could do to stop himself from putting his hands over his ears like a child that was scared of thunder. It was the last thread of pride he clung to.

And then it stopped.  
Gimli blinked, feeling suddenly lightheaded and dazed, as if he had just woken up from a deeply confusing dream. The echoes of it still lingered in his mind, but they vanished like smoke in the air as soon as he tried to decipher them. He looked up, and his fingers held on to the soft material of Legolas' tunic more tightly without realizing it.  
They were underground, although he couldn't remember Arod moving downwards at any point of the way. But he was a dwarf, and he did recognize a cave when he saw one. Even one that was so distinctly _elvish_ it barely deserved the name.

There were roads and pillars made of stone, curvy and elegant in all their designs, but they were interwoven with roots so incredibly thick and strong that Gimli couldn't even begin to guess their age. Behind them the heavy gates fell shut. Suddenly, he felt very, very closed off from the outside world... 

He was aching all over as he slid from Arod's back, more clumsily than he would have liked, while Legolas' movements barely made a sound as his feet touched solid ground again.  
One of the guards led the tired horse away, while the other, tall, male elf with chestnut brown hair turned to Gimli, and the dwarf was surprised to actually find curiosity and maybe concern in his face. Or , Gimli thought that this one was a male, at least. With some of them he still found it hard to tell, but he figured elves would come across the same problem among his people.  
It was usually easy to disregard the distinction, since elves cared very little for it in his experience.  
“You are well, dwarf?” His Westron was obviously rusty at best, only the intonation and the well-known tilt of his head gave the words away as a question.  
For a moment Gimli felt too baffled to respond. He didn't even know how he felt...  
Like a wrung out towel, If he had to describe it, but he doubted the elf would understand that.

So Gimli just nodded, though he knew that he couldn't actually hide a mistrusting glare in the elf's direction. If he noticed, he didn't seem to care.  
“Good. Brave dwarf, riding from scary forest to scary king.”, the elf announced. Something about this seemed to greatly amuse him, and as so often among elves, Gimli had no idea whether that was meant as an insult or a compliment. For the sake of keeping peace as long as possible, he tried to think of it as the latter.  
But the uncomfortable, restless feeling that had settled within his stomach wouldn't leave him and having to remove his weapons at last didn't help. He knew he should trust that Legolas would not have led him here if actual harm awaited him, or even just the possibility of it. Still, Gimli felt oddly naked and exposed without his axes as he handed them over to the strange elf, who tested their weight and balance curiously in his hands, before Legolas' soft-spoken command made him focus again.  
To Gimli's delight, the elf seemed a bit taken aback himself being called out like that, but he straightened up fairly quickly and took Legolas' bow and quiver as well, He bowed deeply, shooting Gimli a last look with laughing eyes, before turning and leaving.

“What was that all about?”, Gimli grumbled, falling into step with Legolas, who now followed the elf that had led them here, and who still didn't seem intent on talking to any of them.  
Legolas looked at him, and Gimli could swear he saw the same flicker of amusement dance in the blue eyes of his elven companion as he just had in the stranger's face.  
“Dúvenor just finds you highly interesting. I think he hasn't made up his mind yet whether he thinks you very brave or insane for following me here, and it intrigues him.”  
_Elves!_  
Gimli sighed. He knew better than still accusing them of hostile arrogance, but they had an obnoxious habit of treating other peoples' lives and fates as a means of entertainment. At least, this one had actually bothered to talk with him instead of simply watching him like he was a rare animal inside a cage unlike the silent elf who led them through great, airy halls of stone and roots covered with climbing plants and vines that grew towards the natural openings that allowed the sunlight to reach deep into the cave.  
Gimli supposed he should be grateful for that.

“Well, he could've just asked. Clearly, it's insanity.”, Gimli stated dryly.  
Next to him, Legolas grinned. He shouldn't even be grinning in this situation, and he shouldn't be so damn relaxed, although Gimli had to admit to himself that he wouldn't have made a single step further into Thranduil's kingdom had it not been for Legolas' complete lack of worry.  
Wherever that came from. 

-

Of course, they were not even given the chance to change their clothes or grab a bite to eat before they were being _presented_ to the Elvenking – and there really was no other word for what happened.  
Galion, as Gimli had finally learned the elf's name to be, might insist that his king's thin-worn patience was no longer to be tested further, and while it probably didn't matter for his son, he very well knew the advantage he held over a tired, hungry and rather unkempt dwarf. That, or he simply did not care for his guest's needs, which only affirmed Gimli's notion of what Thranduil's invitation was in truth.

It did not serve his temper well, but he knew he had to refrain from letting the Elvenking know exactly what he thought of his hospitality. He would not fall for such provocation, and confirm Thranduil's prejudices so easily.  
Whatever words he had prepared instead, words of courtesy and peace-offerings, half-formed explanations for the rather delicate nature of his relationship to Legolas, fled his mind the moment they entered Thranduil's court room.

Instead of being enclosed within four sturdy walls, one side of the room was completely open to the oustide – safe for a handful of slim, twisted pillars – and gave way to a most glorious view over the sun kissed treetops of the Greenwood, fresh young leaves swaying gently with the wind, whose whisper mingled with the song of countless birds that greeted a new morning in all their given enthusiasm.  
Rivaling this sight was only the Elvenking himself, the most alien of his kind that Gimli had yet encountered.

Even for an elf, Thranduil was impossibly tall, beautiful as a full moon on an icy cold winter's night shining his pale, eerie light on glistening snow... and just as ancient and untouchable. It contrasted almost painfully with the serene picture of a warm summer's morning laid out behind him.  
Silver hair fell like a veil down his shoulders and back, held in place only by a pointed, thorny crown. It was decorated with greens and tiny, white flowers, the peak of humiliation in dwarven tastes, but the Elvenking carried it with such pride and grace Gimli could not help but be impressed.

He wore layers over layers of luxurious silken robes that should be heavy enough to wear him down, but he moved as if he weighed nothing at all, turning to them at their entrance, and still his presence was easily the most powerful in the room.  
Thranduil's stunning blue eyes lacked the warmth he could find in Legolas', even as they clearly lit up with joy when he was finally, after almost two years of waiting, looking at his son again.  
_”Ionneg... na vedui!”_  
His voice was surprisingly deep, rolling from his lips like thunder in the distance even as he smiled at his son. Legolas seemed caught off guard by this, and Gimli knew that the elf had expected this to go very differently. Gimli wasn't sure it still wouldn't, as he noticed that there were guards posted next to the door, so silent and unmoving they might as well be statues.

_”Ada...”_ , Legolas sighed softly, and Gimli knew than that despite what he had let on, he had missed his father deeply. It almost felt too intimate to watch as Legolas, hesitantly at first, closed the distance between him and Thranduil, who reached out to touch his son's cheek and his golden hair, gently and thoughtfully, as if he needed to remember what it felt like, and it probably was.  
Elves rarely felt the need to express themselves physically towards each other, so Gimli guessed this was the closest those two would get to the full-body bear hug he had to expect from his father. And mother. And the rest of the lot.  
He figured he didn't need to rush, capturing Thranduil's attention, even though he had to resist the urge to pat himself down to check if he was suddenly as invisible as the Elvenking made him feel.

Thranduil took his time, taking in the familiar face before him and all the changes he found on it... some of them, that spoke of battlefields and war, cut through his very being like a shard of glass. Others that lay deeper in his son's eyes left him numb with disbelief. But he hadn't needed to look so closely as the evidence of all his worst nightmares already hung thickly in the air.  
So slowly it was barely noticeable the soft smile slipped from his lips, as his fingers slid down to grasp Legolas' chin. There was no force in his touch, and still it didn't allow for resistance.

_”Sevig thû naug.”_

Gimli did not know an awful lot of Elvish, but he damn well knew _that_ word and seeing Legolas freeze at his father's touch only fueled his rage, barely restrained in the form of a growl.  
“King Thranduil, Lord of Greenwood the Great, if I may speak to introduce -”, Gimli spoke up, trying his best to keep his temper in check to keep this from escalating any further. There had to be something he could say, his unusual diplomatic streak was after all the only reason he still had a head sitting on his body.  
A single, seething look from the Elvenking's shut him up mid-sentence.

He had been subjected to the mistrustful glares of elves before, but nothing had ever struck him as hard as the pure disgust and hatred blazing in the cold, blue eyes that slowly wandered over him.  
“No.”  
That was it.  
With a single word, he denied Gimli not only a word, but his very existence it seemed, and the dwarf felt completely gobsmacked. 

“ _Ada_ , if you will just listen to him...!”, Legolas pleaded, and Gimli frowned as he heard the undertone of annoyance, rather than despair. For a moment that stretched to an eternity, the Elvenking inclined his head, as if actually giving the matter any thought.  
“Oh, I will listen to him, dear.”, Thranduil agreed then, much too calm for Gimli's liking, and still much too fixated on him. “I will listen to every single one of his excuses for putting his _greedy, filthy hands on my own flesh and blood_ , before I cut out his lying tongue. Take him away from my sight.”, Thranduil's sharp voice commanded, and Gimli felt a surge of panic rising in him as he was seized by the shoulders and arms by the elven guards.

“You cannot do this!”, Legolas hissed impatiently. “Whether you like it or not he is still one of the Fellowship and for that alone he deserves your respect. And it is no crime to lay one's hands on the willing.”  
Gimli groaned inwardly at this confession, although he was glad to hear Legolas defend themselves without hesitation or shame from his father, whatever good it could do him now.  
“What is and isn't a crime within my realms is not for you to decide.”, Thranduil told his son pointedly, before bidding his guards to carry through his command with a single wave of his hand.  
Gimli's harsh protests fell on deaf ears, and the last thing he saw before the doors fell closed behind him was the thousand sorrowful apologies in Legolas' eyes, and promises of freedom on his suddenly trembling lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Translations-  
> Khuzdul  
>  _Irak'adad_ \- Uncle
> 
> Sindarin  
>  _Na vedui!_ \- At last!  
>  _Sevig thû naug._ \- You smell like dwarf. Note that _naug_ is clearly considered an insulting term.  
>  _Ionneg _\- Son_  
>  _Ada_ \- Father_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, it is true, a bond between an elf and a dwarf has never existed before. But maybe this is because they never walked together through the enchanted forest of the Lady Galadriel before, to see that we are not so different as we might think.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this took me way longer than I expected.. I'm trying to upload the next chapter a bit quicker, but this story really unfolds along the way, which makes shaping it a bit of a challenge.  
> Also, writing it takes forever and still the chapters feel to short, so this is also a lesson in patience for me.
> 
> Anyway, as always, I hope you enjoy the ideas I'm toying with - let me know what you think. :)

Inside his cell, Gimli felt increasingly restless.  
The walls around him were massive stone, which could have made him feel comfortable even, if not for the iron bars keeping him from leaving. Aside from that, the place was quite unsettling. They were deep beneath the earth, close to the spring of the swift stream that had carved its way through the tunnels and caves, leaving only small pathways for the prisoners and their guards to walk on.  
The stone was wet and slippery, threatening to make him lose his footing and fall into the churning waters, getting drowned by the currents or just broken by the jagged rocks beneath him. Maybe both.

Dwarves made similar paths, but they made them from solid stone, evening them out with unfaltering precision, instead of having them eaten away by moisture and moss, leaning whichever way time shaped them. They would have never made it out of Khazad-dûm alive, staggering along those fragile, wet bridges and walkways, he thought grimly.  
Elves, however, did not have to fear slipping on them, he knew. He had seem their kin cross the river to Lothlórien on nothing but a thin, swinging rope. They had actually thought they were being helpful by attaching a second rope to hold on to, that should have provided some sense of security to those without their acrobatic skills. It really hadn't, and if Gimli never had to cross a river this way again, it would still be too soon.

 

Of course, Thranduil's dungeons were treacherous in their nature. His guards could get rid of Gimli with a single shove, blaming his inferior sense of balance for the accident. But they made no attempt at that, instead they followed the dwarf's slower pace, always close enough to touch him, but never actually doing so as long as he kept walking.  
It made him feel on edge the entire time, so much, he was almost relieved to be within the safety of a prison cell, however absurd it was.  
Behind him, the barred doors fell shut, and they left him without further comment or instruction, leaving him with the constant, unsettling noise of the rolling stream, and his blank thoughts.

Legolas would not have him here for long, Gimli was sure of that. Still, hours passed, he could tell by the change of the faint light that fell into the cave, as it climbed its way up the stone walls, until he couldn't help but grow restless, pacing slowly through the limited space. Seven steps in length, three and a half in width, though a stone bench took up a lot of walking space. Thin, but surprisingly soft blankets were the only comfort offered to him, but a dwarf's blood ran hot enough to not be so easily chilled by the wind that carried with him the wet cold of the river. So he waited... trying to figure out what to expect, and failing.

Quiet footsteps announced the arrival of an elf, and Gimli was surprised to see Dúvenor again, carrying food and a bundle of clothes that turned out to be his own set of spares, cleaned and dried carefully.  
“Did Legolas send you?”, he asked immediately, not caring how eager he sounded to get any kind of news about the current state of affairs. He tried to ignore the curious look on the elf's face as he studied him, as if he'd never seen a dwarf before, though it was a bit unnerving, really.  
“He cannot come now. So, I bring food and clothes, and keep company.”, the elf explained cheerfully. If Gimli liked one thing about him, it was Dúvenors complete lack of concern for his imperfect Westron, he talked as freely as he would in his own language, as best as he could.

“Company, right...”  
Whatever Legolas thought he needed that for.  
“So, where is Legolas?”, he asked, trying to speak as clearly as he could without sounding condescending, but he had no way of knowing how well the elf understood what he said.  
Dúvenor shrugged, an elvish expression whenever the answer was obvious to them.  
“Fighting with king.”

Gimli's alarmed expression seemed to confuse him for a second, until he realized his own mistake.  
“Not weapon fight!”, he clarified, and then... then he actually brought up his hands to use them as puppets, arguing back and forth in his foreign dialect, which strangely reminded Gimli of the puppet theaters Bofur would play for children...  
All elves were weird, it was true. But the wood elves seemed to be a special kind of whack jobs, Gimli decided as Dúvenors left hand snapped at his right - by now he seemed to be getting into his performance. At least he had no difficulty believing that this elf was Legolas' friend anymore...

“I get it, I get it!”, Gimli interrupted him at last, and as quickly as he had started, Dúvenor fell silent again, obviously content with his experimental conversation skills.  
“So... thank you for the food, and the clothes. I appreciate your kindness, but you do not need to stay.”  
He probably could have been more polite about that, but not in easy words. The elf frowned, and then something in his face softened.  
“I want to. Please.”  
Gimli felt a bit taken aback by the word alone, but then Dúvenor actually lowered himself to the ground, folding his legs beneath him until he sat as comfortably as he could on the cold stone, so they were on eye level now.

“You and Legolas fight together. You must tell about it, everybody is curious.”  
He could see the pride those elves carried for their prince in Dúvenor's amber eyes, but what almost made him laugh was the quiet shuffling of feet he could hear, though he could still not see his guards... it was obvious that they had been listening.  
“Guards should not be talking to prisoners, I believe.”, he remarked, and Dúvenor smirked.  
“No. But I am not guard. I am company.”

 _Now_ they understood each other, and now Gimli's deep laugh rumbled through the cells.  
Thranduil could lock him up... he could threaten to cut out his tongue, but as long as he hadn't made good on that, he could not keep Gimli from talking, from telling this nosy folk the story of their prince's bravery and courage, a tale that spoke as much of their adventures as of their growing respect and friendship for one another, until the bonds between them had become to closely entwined to be separated again.  
It gave him a chance to tell them what their king didn't want them to hear. Of course Legolas had not sent Dúvenor here without a reason... that sneaky, terrible elf.

-

 

Two days later, Dúvenor was no longer alone when he paid his visit. He had left Gimli a few times, to give him time to rest, and when he had come back, each time more elves had snuck down into the dungeons with him, until now there was a group of six sitting with him. There were probably more, out of sight, but listening closely.  
Sometimes it took a bit of creativity to comprehend each other, when even Dúvenor could not translate his words. They would chatter excitedly when he described the battles they fought in Helm's Deep and on the Pelennor, urging Dúvenor to tell him about their own battles against the orcs and spiders of Dol Guldur in return.  
And then they finally asked the question he had anticipated from the start.

When he told them how Legolas had made him promise to travel to Fangorn Forest with him in exchange for a visit to the caves of Aglarond – and it would have taken two more days to describe them to the elves in all their glorious detail – they had fallen uncharacteristically silent, a look of serene joy twinkling in their dark eyes, until Gimli felt heat rising in his cheeks from all their unabashed staring.  
Apparently, if there was one thing elves loved more than a good battle story, it was a love story... 

“But elf and dwarf have no bond. Never. How can you have it?”, Dúvenor finally asked, tilting his head ever so slighty.  
Gimli scoffed. As if he could know the answer to that...  
“Maybe we could have. Maybe it would have happened much, much sooner, but... we were always fighting. We've been told so many lies and spilled so much of each other's blood, we could no longer forgive.”  
Gimli sighed, and leaned his head back against the stone wall, trying to explain his thoughts in the simple language they had agreed upon, subconsciously.  
“Legolas and I... we despised each other in the beginning. I was taught to mistrust elves from birth, and in my eyes he was no exception. But it is easy to hate _all elves_ , or _all dwarves_ , for that matter. It is not easy to hate one elf, who travels with you, eats with you, sleeps next to you...”  
He was getting lost in his thoughts, no longer minding the wide-eyed elves and their silent, unblinking staring.  
“In Khazad-dûm he... he dragged me by the neck from my cousin's tomb. If he hadn't I would still be lying there. There was no reason for him to care, but he did. We lost Gan-... Mithrandir there. Legolas urged us on to Lothlórien...”  
Thinking back, Gimli barely remembered walking there. 

“I thought it would help him grieving, being with his own kind. But most of the time, he stayed with me... and there we started talking. Sometimes, at least, sometimes we didn't. But he gave me comfort, freely and generously, where I had least expected to find it.”  
Gimli sighed, thoughtfully stroking the braids in his beard.  
“So, it is true, a bond between an elf and a dwarf has never existed before. But maybe this is because they never walked together through the enchanted forest of the Lady Galadriel before, to see that we are not so different as we might think.”

Maybe they weren't even the first, maybe their people simply refused to remember anything like it. Gimli would never know for sure, but he had accepted it either way. But nobody would make an unspoken relic of history out of Legolas and him.

 

-

Night fell for the third time and Gimli's throat felt raw by now, but when the elves suddenly turned their heads, all exhaustion seemed to leave his body. Swiftly they parted to make way, and Gimli's chest clenched as he saw the familiar face of the blond elf, so unusually tired. Relief flashed behind blue eyes, as Legolas sank to his knees before the iron barred door, clasping Gimli's hands that gripped the metal bars between his own, leaning his head in.  
The bars were too thick to allow any actual body contact, as Gimli returned the gesture, pressing his forehead against Legolas' in a very Elvish variation of a Dwarvish greeting, but they could still feel each other's warmth and slowly the tension seemed to drain from Legolas' body, as if he tried to melt through the gapes and into Gimli's arms.

“Tell me what happened, love.”, Gimli said.  
Underneath the gruff timbre of his voice he sounded worried. He had seen Legolas run and fight for days without proper sleep, showing no sign of exhaustion, but now the elf seemed drained from all energy, the reassuring smile on his lips faltering ever so slighty.  
“Absolutely nothing.”, Legolas sighed, breaking his gaze from Gimli only for a second to accept a cup of water from a female elf, who now urged the others to leave them alone, earning a grateful smile from her prince.  
It faded from Legolas' lips the moment they were out of sight.

“I tried to talk some sense into him... it is not right that he treats you this way. But my father is deaf to reason, I'm afraid.”, Legolas huffed, just about to agitate himself again. Gimli shook his head in confusion.  
“What, you _talked_ to him? You mean to tell me that you've been gone for two days because you... what, held him hostage in his own chambers until he told you what you wanted to hear?”  
Technically, elves did not need to sleep for days, but Gimli could barely bear a fight with his parents for mere hours, let alone days. The sheepish grin on Legolas' face made him groan instinctively. That never meant anything good.

“I did not hold my father hostage! I just... followed him around, and when he refused to talk to me, I talked, until he yelled at me, and sometimes I would yell back, he'd leave, I'd follow... you know... I lost track of time doing that. He just... refuses to listen, that stubborn, thick-headed -”  
Whatever else he had to say about his father dissolved into hissed Sylvan curses, and Gimli didn't know whether to laugh or cry thinking about those two getting into each other's hair for literally days – and he had no doubt that somewhere within this halls, Thranduil had exactly the same to say about his stubborn, thick-headed son.

“Anyway, in the end he threatened to have me 'forcibly removed', whoever he thinks would forcibly remove me from anywhere within this kingdom, but I didn't wait to find out.”, Legolas concluded, arranging himself to sit a bit more comfortable.  
This was really not good news, but the elf seemed... not so much troubled as tired, and a bit annoyed. To be honest, Gimli had expected a different reaction.  
It had never been his intention for Legolas to be in this situation, to fall out with his father in a manner that seemed so irreparable and final, but when he opened his mouth to say... anything, really, an apology or words of comfort, the elf interrupted him.

“Don't. This is not your fault. Neither is it mine, or my father's... It is, how it is. I love you, and you love me, and I will not have you apologizing for it.”  
Gimli's throat felt tight as blue eyes caught his, filled with so much love, sincerity and determination it felt suddenly physically painful to be separated from the elf, and he felt his grip on the iron bars tighten as if he could actually rip them from their anchorage if he only tried hard enough...  
“I need you to get me out of here.”, he decided, his voice heavy with the longing to be closer to his elf, cursing the damned prison doors, finding little solace in Legolas' warm, slender fingers cupping his own.

“I will. I have another plan.”  
Gimli huffed.  
“Right, in case annoying the shit out of your father didn't work, huh?”  
“You'd be surprised how often it does work.”  
“I probably shouldn't be; you should be an honorary dwarf for your stubbornness alone. Have mercy on your father, he is but an elf.”, Gimli shot back dryly. Legolas laughed, and then it was back again... that mischievous twinkle in his eyes, as he leaned in to gently place a kiss on the dwarf's rough-skinned knuckles.  
Gimli wondered whether it was to soon for condolences to Thranduil's sanity.

-

Under a canopy of trees Celeborn met Thranduil again, the Lord of Lórien walking next to the Elvenking in a slow, measured pace, allowing silence to spread between them. Thranduil had always been quick to jump to his defenses when he felt attacked, never giving up the advantage of dealing the first blow - and to make sure it would be as lethal at it could be.  
But Celeborn had not come to fight and when Thranduil finally sighed, softly but resigned, he spoke at last.

“You know that you cannot do this, Thranduil. I understand that the situation at hand is... peculiar”  
Thranduil's lips curled slightly, yet he remained silent.  
“But it is not up for your personal judgement. This is not some stray dwarf in your dungeons, this is Gimli, son of Glóin. An equal member of The Fellowship, a fierce and brave warrior, friend to mortal and immortal folk alike. Brother-in-arms with King Elessar of Gondor and Éomer, King of Rohan, who awarded him with a lordship for his loyalty and courage, and cousin to the King under the Mountain. None of them will tolerate his imprisonment – and not even you can challenge three kingdoms at once. You need to release him immediately.”

 

Despite the urgency of the situation, Celeborn kept his voice calm. He could see Thranduil's jaw clench.  
“Let them come and claim him, I will be glad to escort him out of my realm and away from my son.” Thranduil had stopped and turned to look at Celeborn now, though the seething rage that burned in his eyes met only compassion and sadness. For a while, neither of them moved or spoke, unvoiced thoughts hanging heavily between them, but Celeborn was nothing if not patient. He could see the storm brewing behind Thranduil’s brows, and he could only imagine how fiercely he had clashed with his son over this matter. Legolas had not actually admitted that he had given up… but he had asked Celeborn very insistently to try and reason with his father. If only to release Gimli from his unjust imprisonment – they both knew that more could not be expected.

He could see all the contradictory emotions dance over Thranduil’s face, struggling against himself, struggling with wanting to spill all he felt and at the same time wanting to swallow it down until he choked on it. And still Celeborn only watched him expectantly, never offering to form the words for other elf.

 _”I hate this!”_ , the Elvenking finally hissed, and there was pain written in his face now. His own anger poisoned him, twisting his features into something cruel and eating away at his insides until he couldn't feel anything else anymore.  
“I hate all of it! I hate how I have done nothing but fight with my own sown, ever since he set foot into the forest. I hate that... blasted dwarf in my dungeons, and I hate his audacity of thinking himself worthy of an elf's affection...”  
By now he just spit out words, filled with so much rage they almost disguised how helpless he felt, and it felt like draining a wound.  
“I hate that accursed wizard, and... and Elrond, the damned Lord of Rivendell, who let my son go to war against _Mordor_ , to march towards certain death! And now he's back... and still doomed to die.”  
Finally, Thranduil's voice broke under the weight of his grief.  
“And I hate that the most...”

Celeborn sighed and placed a warm, comforting hand on Thranduil's trembling shoulder, before he said the one thing the Elvenking would have least expected.  
“I know.”

-

Hours passed, filled with long-stretched silences and few words, until Thranduil regained some sort of self-control. Still, he did not feel any rush to return to his halls, at last finding some peace within his woods, floating through his thoughts rather than being drowned by them.  
He knew that Celeborn had come because Legolas had asked him to, and he wanted to be angry about that, too. He wanted to be angry with Celeborn, but it was pretty much pointless to lash out against someone who reacted to his spiteful tone and his snappy comments with only patience and words of comfort. It felt like fighting air… and deep down he already knew better, and he knew that Celeborn had spoken the truth. He _did_ understand – it was, after all, his own granddaughter who had given her hand in marriage to the mortal King of Gondor, choosing his fate as hers, choosing death over her family, and no one could save her from it any longer. Thranduil could at least hope that grief alone would not take his immortal son's life... Legolas could fight it, he could live on... but what if he _didn't_?

Until now, Thranduil hadn’t spared Arwen's fate any thought.  
The Peredhel Elves were not his concern, and neither were their choices. He had never felt much pity for them, and he doubted he would have cared about Arwen’s decision until now… and he knew for certain, that he would not have sought Celeborn out to offer him consolation. Probably, he would have just told him that it had been a mistake to allow Celebrian, his only daughter, to elope with the half-elf in the first place. 

Now, even the Elvenking had come to realize that some things were not within their control.  
Celeborn could have refused the match, but what would he have achieved by doing so, safe for breaking his daughter’s heart? He could have forced his granddaughter to leave for Valinor, and for what? To watch her wither from despair and unfulfilled longing? A knife to her throat would have been more merciful.

Thranduil knew that he had no way of breaking the bond between Legolas and his…  
He didn’t even want to find a word for it. That didn't stop him from fantasizing about it, though, and Celeborn listened patiently to all his suggestions, nevertheless.  
He could do it quickly… behead the dwarf and be done with it. Or slowly… taking Legolas away, so far away he would be out of any mortal’s reach, letting the dwarf rot starve and rot in his cell in the abandoned forest.  
(“You could at least _release_ him before departing.”, Celeborn had chuckled, earning only a scoff from the Elvenking. Clearly, this did not satisfy his need for revenge at all.)  
He could bribe him… that thought Thranduil did actually ponder for the longest time. He could offer the dwarf as much gold and gems as he could carry, and more for each member of his family, he could offer him lands and lordships if this was what he desired, if only he broke off his relationship to Legolas. Dwarves were greedy creatures… maybe this had been his plan all along. 

“I’m afraid you will not sway him with the promise of gold and wealth.”  
Thranduil sighed in exasperation.  
“And why not? His line is especially weak for it, they always have been.”  
“That might be true. And still, where there’s greed in another dwarf’s heart, there’s generosity and humility in his. My wife saw it with her gift… and I saw it with my own eyes. Your son has made a choice wiser than you might yet understand.”  
For the longest moment, Thranduil was sure that Celeborn was mocking him now. But he could only find sincerity in his eyes and a small, reassuring smile on his lips.  
Finally, the Elvenking sighed and turned, ready to return to his halls and his people.

“I assume then I am left with no choice but to see for myself the nature of this dwarf. I… would not be opposed if you joined me.”  
That was probably the most heartfelt invitation Celeborn could expect, and he made no effort to hide his amusement as he nodded politely, joining Thranduil once again. The Elvenking held himself straighter now, stronger and more resolved, and he was glad to see it.  
Even his voice had regained its usual drawn-out, haughty tone, as he looked at Celeborn over his shoulder.  
“Don’t be surprised if I still hate him tomorrow.”  
Celeborn laughed.  
“Don’t be surprised if you don't.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ["So spare us both and tell me, _Gimli_ : What makes you so special among your kind you think you could be worthy of my son's attention?”]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!
> 
> First of all, I'm hugely sorry this took me almost half a year to write.  
> That was a really challenging scene for some reason - mainly because my mind was going down a hundred different paths - but I stuck with it and hopefully composed this in a way you'll enjoy.
> 
> A big special Thank You! goes out to everyone who left me a comment, every single one of them encouraged me to tackle this again and again until the knot finally burst. 
> 
> Without further ado, as it's been long enough as it is, here's the next chapter:

„Get up.“  
Gimli groaned, slowly opening his eyes to find his cell still enclosed by darkness, any light that could have illuminated it was blocked by the two slim shadows right in front of the barred door.  
„What'd'ya want...?“, he grumbled at them, even though he believed he already knew the answer. It wasn't one he liked, although it could mean his temporary release from the confined space he had been kept in.  
But he suspected only one would find a way to make even his freedom somewhat less enjoyable than it could have been, and only one who could hope to gain some sort of advantage over a mortal simply by ripping them from sleep, leaving them drowsy and a little less guarded.

“The King wishes to speak to you.”  
Gimli sighed, deep and long, before he finally moved his heavy body, mumbling the complete lack of surprise into his beard while trying to get himself somewhat presentable with barely open eyes.  
He could feel his guards getting impatient – Gimli guessed they had expected him to be more alert upon their arrival, and maybe he should be.  
For all he knew, the Elvenking could have lost his last shred of patience and decided to get rid of him for good. Gimli doubted that, though. If Thranduil had wanted to do so, he could have done it days ago. That he hadn't just showed that the elf was very aware of the consequences. Whether he was a dwarf directly related to the line of Durin or not, his people would never forgive any harm done to one of their own, and especially not by the elves.  
They had just ended a war – and despite of how cold and without mercy the dwarves liked to describe the Elvenking, he did not seek bloodshed if he could avoid it. Thranduil would not risk another war over a single dwarf. 

So he followed the guards, proper guards this time who did not try to engage him in conversation, with only the light of their torches now guiding him through steep tunnels and the uneven, wounded paths the led over stone and wood.  
Silence hung thickly in the air, and apart from Gimli and the two elves escorting him, the palace seemed completely forsaken. He heard no whispers, no steps, no talk or laughter. Only the heavy fall of his own boots that echoed though the empty spaces between the twined branches and open caves.

The throne room laid in an eerie twilight when they entered it, the echo now losing itself in the airy hall, so high that Gimli could only make out the ceiling because it partly opened to the sky, letting the faint, dim light of a rising sun wash over slim pillars, revealing a path carved into stone that lazily wound itself up into a flight of twisted stairs, leading up to a massive throne.  
There waited the Elvenking,. He was a vision of beauty and decadence alike, all silver hair and fair skin and silk clothes spilling over him. And Gimli, who probably knew more kings than the average dwarf, could not recall ever seeing one draped over their throne so entirely comfortably and relaxed.  
Thranduil appeared to be _part_ of it, as if the wood had decided to grow shapes to accommodate him, weaving intricate ornaments for his pleasure, carving a heavy, impressive set of antlers to rest above him as a symbol of his power, of his leadership, and at the same time protecting him from anyone who could try to harm him.  
This was not a mere elf, this wasn't even just another king... this ageless creature was the living, breathing heart of the forest Gimli had set foot in, and he understood in that very moment that he would not leave it unless with the Elvenking's permission.

It made anyone standing before the throne feel like an intruder and Gimli could feel his throat dry up as Thranduil's scrutinizing gaze fell upon him, like a cat sizing up its prey.  
“Leave us.”, the rich, deep voice commanded. The guards bowed courtly before turning on their heels, taking with them the torches as such the last warm flicker of light that Gimli missed immediately.  
The dim, gray twilight felt more unnatural to a dwarf's eyes than darkness could have and he somehow suspected that Thranduil knew that.  
Silence fell around them once more, until he could only hear his own breathing, cutting disturbingly loud through the eerie, surreal atmosphere that threatened to swallow him whole now, make him disappear without a trace as if he had never existed, leaving him to wander roads and paths that led nowhere, only echoes as his company.  
The Elvenking made no effort to disrupt this twisted thoughts by speaking, instead his eyes were locked on the dwarf as if he could draw out an answer from that alone without ever having to ask whatever questions were troubling his mind.

Finally Thranduil shifted his position, supporting his head on a slim hand in a thoughtful gesture.  
“I want to make you an offer.”  
Gimli's brows furrowed slightly in equal surprise and immediate mistrust, but he nodded anyway.  
“I'm listening.”  
“You will leave my kingdom today. I will arrange for your safe journey to my borders, provide you with means of transport and provisions on your way home, and I will let you take whatever your heart desires from my treasure halls. Anything, no exceptions. All of it, if that's what you request. In return, you will leave for good. You will not turn back, you will not ever attempt any form of contact with my son or any other within my realm again, and whatever did or did not happen between you and him, you will take to your grave. This is my offer – and as it is my only offer, I suggest you take it, lest you wish to spend the remains of your days in my dungeons.”

Gimli had heard about the Elvenking's legendary arrogance, his prideful sense of entitlement that riled up even the most patient of dwarves within minutes, but until now he had half believed that to be excuses made by those who had lost their composure in his presence before.  
But he had to admit he could not remember being insulted in such a fashion, in such a short span of time ever before, and all without a single swear word. It was almost impressive.  
“Seems to me like blackmail rather than an offer, wouldn't you say?”  
Gimli had promised himself not to argue with the elf... but that had been before Thranduil had opened his mouth, now the best he could do was polite sarcasm. That obviously wasn't lost on the Elvenking, given his small, humorless smile.

“I say it makes no difference, as long as you are gone before nightfall So, tell me, what will it take for you to leave?”  
Really, Gimli had really wanted a more friendly approach – he would have been willing to take the occasional verbal blow, close his ears to random insults until the elf grew tired of it, if that's what was needed for Thranduil to come to terms with his son's choice. He had not anticipated for the Elvenking to make this almost impossible, and he grit his teeth while he struggled to fight down the burning anger in his stomach at the hundreds of implications that Thranduil had weaved into his words.  
He knew that the elves thought his own kin greedy and manipulative, but to suggest that Gimli could be _bought_ like this... a few jewels and golden coins in exchange for his heart. He took a deep breath to calm himself, to pick his words carefully as he had been taught to do... 

“A horse and your permission for your son to join me. Though I doubt he needs it, I would not wish to be the reason he parts from you on bad terms.”

 

On his throne, it was Thranduil's turn to be surprised, though his face hid it better than the dwarf's. Truth to be told, he had expected the creature to snap at him, curse him or call him names for suggesting that he could simply bribe him into leaving. Making a dwarf jump out of his skin from sheer anger was after all one of his many talents, and he enjoyed it usually more than the diplomat in him allowed to exercise.  
A small part of him had even believed that maybe it could work... despite Celeborn's absurdly high opinion of the dwarf. Maybe he would agree, take whatever he wanted and drag it back to his mountain, disappearing under that over sized rock and from the face of Arda.

Thranduil had not expected expected this level of calmness, although his gruff voice did sound a bit strangled. It was not what he knew from those stunted creatures, who usually took without asking, apologized for nothing and defended whatever they deemed their property to their last breath.  
It was way worse. 

 

“That you should have the audacity to ask for this...”, the Elvenking seemingly whispered to himself, but Gimli could hear his words as clearly as if they had been spoken right next to him. His apprehension grew, as the tall figure rose from the antlered throne, descending down the steps in a languid, predatory way that made Gimli's skin crawl. It made him want to reach for a weapon that wasn't there, missing the weight of his ax now more than ever while at the same time he was relieved it wasn't available to him. Any chance of leaving this interrogation on neutral terms would have vanished the second he had laid hands on it – though he did not doubt that Thranduil had noticed the twitch of his fingers. He was all too aware of the heightened senses of elves to think differently. 

So instead he stood his ground, planting his feet on the stone, knowing that it would not fail him.  
With most elves Gimli had encountered, the air of peacefulness that clung to them made it hard to imagine them as capable warriors too... that they could be swift and deadly if they wanted to. Within their own realms, where they felt safe and protected, he had first seen them as the ethereal creatures that they were, emanating a feeling of serene joy that seeped into everything that lived within their borders, a feeling they had been surprised to find out a dwarf could share...  
It was almost impossible to think of them strapped in armor and wielding swords, riding into battle to spill the blood of their enemies.

With Thranduil, he did not need to imagine.  
The Elvenking might drape himself in an air of indifference and garments too expensive to think about, but whatever magic it was the elves possessed, it was not lost on him... it just felt inherently different. Each slow step was a threat, making the hair on his neck stand on end, as his gaze was trying to break Gimli open, gut him like a fish for his intentions, it felt like cold fingers closing around his neck and he forced himself to breathe again as he noticed that he had at some point involuntarily stopped... 

“So, tell me what makes you so special you think you have the right to make such a request, dwarf.”, Thranduil said, coming to a halt only steps away from Gimli – a distance an elf could overcome before a dwarf could blink.  
“The name's Gimli, if you will, my Lord. Son of Glóin, son of...-”, he said, only to be interrupted by an impatient scoff that turned into a spiteful smile on the elf's lips.  
“Son of Glóin.”, Thranduil repeated, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Son of Gróin, son of Farin, son of Borin, son of Náin, father of Dáin, father of Grór, father of Náin, father of Dáin Ironfoot, the King under the Mountain. I know. I know.”, the Elvenking sighed in exasperation. “I could trace back your ancestry to times lost to your own family. But I fear that despite my immortal nature, to do so would possibly bore me to death. So spare us both and tell me, _Gimli_ : What makes you so special among your kind you think you could be worthy of my son's attention?”

Frowning, Gimli lowered his gaze for a second, recollecting his composure.  
He was not looking for an answer, he was looking for a way to shape it, trying to decide the smartest approach to this... and in the end decided for disarming honesty. 

Gimli looked up into the cold, reserved face of the Elvenking and shrugged defensively.  
“Absolutely nothing, I'm afraid.”, he concluded, smiling at the flicker of surprise in those crystal blue eyes, which allowed him to continue uninterrupted.  
“I am as belligerent, pigheaded and uncompromising as the worst of them, and as loyal, brave and reliable as the best amongst us. I try to do those justice that have brought me up and taught me all I know today while leaving an equally good impression on those who come after me, but apart from that, I'm not special.  
As for whether I'm worthy of Legolas' affections or not...-” There was a flinch in Thranduil's face at the mention of his son's name, something he had managed to avoid until now, that filled Gimli with an odd satisfaction. “..I cannot be the judge.”

“True. For only I can be that.”, an all too familiar voice interrupted him. Out of all the times Gimli had been glad for Legolas' appearance, this certainly had to rank somewhere in the top three occasions. The elf strutted into his father's halls with all the confidence of the world – not that the stoic king appeared to be impressed by it in the slightest. 

“What are you doing here?”, Thranduil sighed, a sound heavy with exasperation, but lacking all form of scorn. A sound every parent reserved for their offspring only.  
“I was just informed of your rather spontaneous interrogation and decided that you shouldn't get to have all the fun on your own. I understand you've been talking about me?”, Legolas explained, walking up behind Gimli in silent steps until he came to stand next to him, a smile blooming on that beautiful face as Gimli looked up to meet the elf's eyes for a moment. And while that was calming, he had actually hoped to find some evidence that Legolas had come here with a plan in the quick look they shared. The careless smile didn't give him much to hope for. 

Thranduil looked like he had just developed a serious migraine, though in his defense, he did his best to keep a straight face, Gimli could tell.  
“Informed by whom?”, he snapped impatiently at his son, as something else behind them captured the Elvenking's attention. A humorless grin spread on Thranduil's lips. Apparently his question had just answered itself.  
Gimli spun around, feeling ten pounds lighter now that Thranduil's focus no longer laid on him, his eyes widening in surprise as he looked upon probably one of the last people he had expected to encounter within the Woodland Realm.  
With a serene calmness Celeborn walked into the vast halls, curiously studying the hybrid architecture of rock and wood as if he hadn't just interrupted anything, or drawn everybody's attention to himself.

“By me, of course.”, Celeborn suddenly spoke, finally looking directly at the Elvenking.  
“You promised to have a civilized conversation with me and my friend-”  
“Oh, now he's your friend, too? Endearing.”  
Celeborn did not even flinch at the rather rude disruption, but continued, if it was at all possible, even calmer than before.

“- instead you dragged him from his cell in front of your throne without giving me any kind of notice.”  
Gimli didn't know how he went from the center of attention to being a mere bystander within such a short span of time, but he wasn't about to complain about that. Next to him, Legolas made no attempt to add anything to the argument unfolding before them, if out of respect for his elders or simple curiosity who would emerge from it victorious, Gimli could not tell. If he had to guess, he would have needed to go with the second option.  
“I agreed to hear him out and I expressed that I would not be bothered by your additional presence. I never promised anything to anyone. Don't try and twist my own words in my mouth, Celeborn.”

“Still I feared for his well-being.” 

“Any why would his _well-being_ concern you?”  
Thranduil was seething now. He had not intended to be disturbed like this, and he obviously resented being called to account by someone who could, by rank and title, not be as easily dismissed as his son. Gimli didn't know if ambushing him like this had been a smart decision.  
But Celeborn actually smiled fondly at Thranduil, like a father would at a child too young to understand the bigger picture of what it was doing yet.

“I'm afraid it concerns us all, to some extent. Ever since my wife, the Lady Galadriel, named him _elvellon_ , the elf-friend, and her champion and has presented him with a gift of unimaginable value.”  
Gimli frowned at that. Surely it had been unusual and unexpected that she would grant him a wish so bold as he had brought forth, he had been able to tell by the elves' reaction then, but he did not see how it could hold any value to the Elvenking, seeing how it was so personal.  
Instead he felt rather put on the spot, seeing as suddenly three pair of eyes were looking at him expectantly, Thranduil's gaze being considerably more doubtful than the others'.

Softly, Legolas nudged at his side.  
“Show him.”  
Gimli sighed. He did not see how this could help his situation, but he dutifully reached into a small, hidden pocket sewed to the inside of his vest, just big enough to contain a small cloth made from the softest leather, folded up neatly to preserve Gimli's biggest treasure until he had the chance to preserve it in a suitable manner.  
He did not particularly feel like sharing something so dear to his heart with the haughty king, and he hesitated before he very reluctantly revealed what was hidden inside the cloth. 

Even now, the Lady's gift shimmered in the sun, that rose steadily and began to fill the chambers with it's soft light. Three strands of hair, shining and gleaming in the sunlight as if they had bathed in gold and silver, and a deep, aching longing ghosted over Celeborn's face for a fraction of a second, gone before Gimli had properly recognized it.  
The Elvenking was silent. All disdain had fallen from his blank face, but Gimli did not yet trust that silence. 

“She gave you that...?”, he finally asked, and this time, Gimli could hear the effort it took him to make his deep voice remain calm and even, instead of pitching up in disbelief. Thranduil didn't even seem to expect an answer.  
Instead he looked from Gimli's hand up to his own son.  
“Why did she give him that?”, he asked Legolas again, and a frown appeared between his brows that was... well, it was plain confused. It made him look at least a thousand years younger, almost like a glimpse of himself before the crown on his head had forbid this kind of doubt and insecurity to cloud his head.  
One day Gimli had to ask what exactly it was that struck all elves in awe and confusion alike about the Lady Galadriel's gift to him. 

“I'm afraid I haven't asked her, and I would not dare to guess her intentions.”, Legolas simply answered, giving Gimli a court nod, and the dwarf folded his treasure back into the tiny pocket above his chest.  
“Why did you not tell me?”, Thranduil asked his son more quietly now.  
“I had hoped I wouldn't have to. I have given you the chance to make your peace with Gimli on your own terms. I [i]begged[/i] you to do so for days, and for what? For you to go behind my back and try to bribe him into leaving me.”  
The rising anger in Legolas' voice was only poorly hidden, and Gimli felt tension radiate from him like heat. It felt familiar... it was the same kind of tension that usually led to someone having an arrow pointed between their eyes. For all that dwarves were known to be possessive creatures, it was the elf prince who was absurdly protective of what he deemed his, to the point were Gimli felt he could probably walk naked and blindfolded through an orc cave and come out unharmed as long as the elf was nearby. Maybe someone should have informed Thranduil of this.  
All of a sudden, Gimli was pretty convinced that 'keeping him company' had not been Dúvenor's only instruction during the past few days – Legolas had just sent out his own guard, and he huffed quietly into his beard. It was hard to tell whether the elf had actually been afraid of someone causing Gimli any harm while he was not around, but the gesture spoke volumes. 

Thranduil was silent. Too silent for Gimli's liking, and he could not decipher his face as his eyes rested upon his defiant son, but he had a feeling there was a whole conversation going on he wasn't a part of.  
“With your permission-”, Legolas broke the silence, and it didn't sound like he was asking for permission, “we will leave now.” Dark blue eyes met Gimli's darker ones, and the hint of a smile appeared on Legolas' face again. “There's so much I've been wishing to show you.”, he added, quietly enough to let even elven listeners know that his words were meant for Gimli only. 

“Have it your way then, if it pleases you.”, the Elvenking replied slowly, still as unreadable as before and turning away from them now as do indicate his loss of interest. It was well feigned, Gimli had to give him that, but he was glad that he could follow Legolas out of these halls instead of having to be in Celeborn's spot. Not that the Elflord looked particularly troubled, but maybe Gimli couldn't read him all that well, either. It was always more difficult with the elders among the elves. 

Gimli hurried to fall into step with Legolas, not yet convinced that Thranduil would not still just stab him in the back, quite literally so, as they made their way out of the King's Halls, and it took him a minute of walking in silence next to the elf who surely made his way through the tunnels formed of roots and rocks, until this turn of event sunk into his consciousness. 

He stopped dead in his tracks as realization hit him, feeling a bit out of breath even though they hadn't been running. Legolas turned and looked at him quizzically, a worried frown appearing on his brow.  
“What's wrong? _Meleth_ , are you hurt?”  
The ease with which he sank to his knees to cup Gimli's face in his hands to inspect him for any hidden damage would probably have scandalized most sane elves. Gimli just shook his head.  
“No, I'm not hurt... I...”  
He shot Legolas a stern look, poking a finger into his chest. “Tell me something. I have been in that dungeon as a _prisoner_ for... five days? A week? While you knew that all I had to do was show him... this!”  
He gestured around his chest pocket, trying to keep his voice from rising, but that was really hard to do when every bone in your body was hurting from sleeping on a stone bench. Dwarf or no, that was not a way to sleep for any living creature with a spine.  
“What would it mean to your father, of all people, anyway?!”  
Something about his gift clearly went over his head, and Gimli wasn't sure he liked that. 

Legolas placed a hand over the pocket in Gimli's vest, feeling his heart race underneath as if he was trying to find the right words. 'Sorry' had better one of them.  
“Her gift to you is of much more value than you could ever imagine.”, he simply said, and while it usually irked something inside of Gimli's mortal soul when elves sounded so damn condescending about how they understood the world's rhyme and reason so much better than any of the dying creatures could – not on purpose maybe, but still – this time he actually believed it.  
“I'm sorry I couldn't tell you. I will try and explain it to you, I promise. Follow me now – you'll feel better once you've had a meal and a bath.”  
He smirked a bit at the last part, and Gimli only huffed. Wasn't his fault that he had only been provided with just enough water – warm at least, he had to give them that – to allow a minimum of cleanliness.  
“Should have pulled your father in a full-body hug, bet he'd still be scrubbing himself three weeks from now.”, he grumbled at the elf, who's smirk turned into a toothy grin.  
“I dare you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Please let me know what you think, all feedback is appreciated. :)  
> Here's to hoping the next chapter will come quicker *fingers crossed*
> 
> You can also come talk to me at my tumblr:   
> http://lord-of-aglarond.tumblr.com/


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